Always
by ThreeJays
Summary: ONESHOT - Damon/Elena with a light side of Klaus/Caroline. Damon & Stefan want to bring Elena back, but Damon should know by now to be careful what you wish for. Spoilers up to 3X21 promo pics , but this wont be fully Season 4 compliant. Rated for language and some disturbing imagery only. Fic dedicated to and written for my readers/reviewers.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own or profit from anything TVD related. All character and world rights are JP and CW's property.

**AN: This is a gift. I have reviewers out there that make this a joy. They are sweet and uplifting. They make me laugh and force me to think of characters in new ways. They make fan fiction amazing and they keep me coming back. You guys...you know who you are. Every single word of this one is for you. Drop me a line so I can reply to you personally, too - I feel all nervous, this is a bit schmoopy and fluffy at the end - sure hope it's ok!**

**Warning: I am ill ****and**** I wrote this very quickly. There will be errors. I wish I could edit it a bit more, but I know if I do, I might never post it. Please be kind. I know this could be better, but I did try. :-)**

Day One:

She's strapped to a chair and despite the come-hither looks she's tried on both of us-there isn't an inch of kinky involved. There's me and my brother and the girl that has torn my soul out through my mother-fucking nose. A lot.

Stefan's been through hell with her too, but hell, he's a whiny little piss anyway, so we can't pin all of his long sighs and doomsday brows on Elena.

She rolls her head to the side, looking at me. "You don't know when to quit, do you? How long are you going to keep trying?"

"Always," I say. I try to keep my expression flat. Her smirk tells me I fail.

"Aw, Damon looks sad. Did I bweak his widdle heart?"

Yeah, no, I'm going to go ahead and blame her for Stefan. And maybe global warming and whatever shitty turn of fashion saw fit to bring back leggings. I turn away and pour myself a drink, and Elena huffs.

"Ignoring me won't make me go away," she says, that sing-song voice like a cheese-grater on my ears. "I'll still be here, a cute little reminder of the second time you believed a girl loved you."

Vampire Elena sans-humanity is a little like Blair Waldorf. Except _psycho bitch_ isn't half as cute on Elena. And while it's not like I tuned in every week, I don't recall Blair eating people in her spare time.

"Elena, we're trying to help you," Stefan says softly. If reincarnation is real, my baby brother will come back as Ghandi. A version of Ghandi who occasionally bites the heads off of kittens.

"No, you're trying to help _you_, Stefan! You want your weepy little girlfriend back!"

Stefan's face pinches off, but he shakes his head. "We're here because every second you spend like this is destroying you."

"I'm not destroyed and I don't need your help! I'm doing just fine on my own, asshole!"

"Sure you are," I say, gesturing to her legs and arms, bruised from all of her struggling against the ropes. She's kicked both of her shoes off, ripped her wrists to shreds, and bitten through her bottom lip so many times, she's got crusted blood all over her chin. "You've got everything under control."

"You kidnapped me, you freak!" she shrieks at me.

"You asked him to help you," Stefan says, still all stoic and bullshit, his fingers steepled under his chin.

Elena looks at him like she wants to kill him, and hell, I get it. I _usually_ want to kill Stefan, but for her it's a little unnecessary. Since he's the only person on this planet as whipped by this damn girl as me, she really should be able to overlook a little overdose of earnestness.

"I wish you both would go to hell!"

I offer her a tight smile. "Already there."

"Should we go with the window again?" Stefan asks, hand near the drapes.

Elena moans, jerking her face away from the window, her hands clamping hard on the arms of her chair. She's got a fleck of spittle on her blood-crusted chin and hanks of long, dirty hair in her fact. Not her hottest moment, but pathetically, I'd still do her.

I'd probably do Elena in a bed _made_ of kitten heads, so see? Me and my brother have something in common after all.

"You ready Damon?" Stefan asks.

"Yeah." No.

_Hell_ no, I'm not ready to do this again. I crouch down in front of her chair anyway, so I can watch her face-watch for some sign or shadow or...something. Watch for the real Elena to come home. "Let her rip."

The light hits for one crystalline moment before the pain, turning her dark eyes amber and her skin to gold. She's so beautiful that in that one bit of a second I remember the sound of her laugh and the feel of her fingers and the taste of her lips.

And then she screams.

Swallowing broken glass that's been lit on fire would be easier than watching her buck like this, the wails coming out of her until she's hoarse and smoking and I'm...I'm just dying. She writhes and jerks, eyes rolling up and flesh sizzling. And I can't take it-I can't-not one more.

The curtains shut. Because Stefan can't take it either.

"I hate you! I hate you!" she half-sobs, half-screams, spitting in my face.

"Love you, too," I say, and my smirk is ten kinds of cruel.

It doesn't fool Stefan. He walks past me, dropping a brief hand to my shoulder. I shrug it off fast, hating him for the kindness. Hating him for knowing how much I meant it.

Day Four:

She's in and out of consciousness now. In the dungeon. No more straps or chairs or screaming sessions with the window.

Shit idea. Not mine for once, I might add.

We take turns watching her. Caroline gripes incessantly when she's here-about Elena, about me, about the drapes or whatever else she can think of. It's fucking hell when she's here. She clip-clops up and down the hallways in her spring sandals, smelling like fruit and blood and talking a thousand-miles-an-hour about things no-one living or dead-except Klaus, apparently-could give two shits about. The real bitch of it is, it's even worse when she's gone.

Then it's just Stefan and me. And her. He wears his agony like another layer of skin. I don't give a shit what they say about ageless vampires. If he keeps furrowing this hard and those lines are going to stick.

I hope.

And then there's me. I bitch and poke at Elena continuously, telling her she needs new insults, warm blood, hell...a shower. I yammer at her from the second I hit the dungeon door until Stefan pulls me back with his sad eyes turned up to suicidal and his hand firm on my shoulder.

That's my role in all of this. I'm the dickiest dick in Dickdom. One who plods up to his room after every Elena shift with a skip in his step and a glass of scotch in his hand. Like it's all a big, fun game.

And then I step into a blistering-hot shower and punch the granite wall for twenty minutes straight. Every time. I start with one, but it never ends there. I go over and over again until arms ache and my knuckles are so bloody I can see bone.

Yeah, it's a twisted little routine, but it's all I've got. Predictability. Common Sense hit the road the first time I stepped in for Stefan at the bottom of those stairs, starting a dance I should have run like hell from. Dignity took off when I gave back her stupid locket, and my filthy fucked-up heart right along with it. And whatever Sanity I had left set sail when Elena pulled me in for that kiss in front of the fireplace.

I think I'd be better if I could stop loving her. I'd sure as shit be happier. I should want that. God damn, I really should.

"I think I have our solution," Caroline says, showing up in my open bedroom door.

I'm downing a bag of blood, but my knuckles are still raw. She doesn't say boo about it, but you can bet your ass she notices. Caroline plays her role as the dumb-blonde-who-really-isn't-dumb very well.

I pull on a shirt, frowning at her. "A solution for the Bitch formerly Known as Elena?"

She nods, eyes twinkling with whatever crazy-ass plan she's come up with. "Fine, I'll bite. What's the plan?"

Klaus steps out from behind her, hands behind his back. "I am, mate."

This tool should be on Broadway. Theatrical doesn't begin to cover it.

"You are not the plan," Caroline hisses at him?

"Really, love, you have another person capable of this at your disposal?"

I look between Klaus and Caroline three or four times. But they don't really look at me. Caroline smacks his arm and asks him why he didn't wait downstairs and he blurts out some bullshit about her not telling him what to do, and Jesus, did I look this stupid? Was I this damn ridiculous back before...before everything?

I run a hand through my hair and push my feet into a pair of boots while they stand there eye-fucking in my doorway.

"You going to actually talk about the plan, or are you planning on borrowing my bed?" I ask.

Caroline gasps, righteous indignation fluttering, and Klaus smirks like I've just stuffed a canary in his mouth. I cross my arms and wait.

"I'm going to compel her," he says.

"You can't-" I cut myself off, because he can. I mean, it couldn't hurt to try, right? We haven't used the vervain rope in three days at least, and God knows she hasn't ingested a damn thing, so...it could work.

I turn to Caroline, not hiding how impressed I am. "I hate to admit it, but that's not a half-bad plan, Blondie."

She sniffs, preening a little. "I thought of it awhile ago..."

I grin. "Let me guess. Now that Lassie's come home, he really didn't want you running off and falling down any...wells."

At _'wells'_, I let my gaze slide over to Klaus, who looks like he can't decide which default setting he wants to go with here: smug bastard or homicidal maniac. I'd go with smug if I were him. His blindingly fucked-up daddy issues make him cry too much when he does the maniac bit.

"Don't bring Tyler into this," Caroline says, all steely voice and pointer finger up.

"Well, let's not pretend he was overjoyed at you driving several hundred miles to _come_ for me, sweetheart," Klaus says.

The double meaning is crystal clear. Klaus smirks, Caroline gags, and I vow to stake myself through both eyes if I find out I ever reached anything resembling this level of douche-baggery during my Elena-hunting period.

"Let's get on with this," I say.

Ten minutes later, Klaus has Elena's narrow, pale chin in his hands. He insisted on her having a blood bag, so she's not quite so skeletal now, and she is mostly conscious. And then he waits with patience I didn't believe he possessed for her eyes to open. Just a sliver. That's all it takes. I see his pupils dilate and feel a wave of nausea roll me under like the tide.

I can't stand this. Watching him dig around in her head. I feel like I want to tear off my own skin or pound carpenter nails into the back of his head. Something. Anything.

But it works. Elena's pupils shift and her breath hitches in her dry as parchment throat.

I don't listen to the words he says. I'm trying way too hard not to hunch over and puke all over the cement to be doing silly little things like listening.

He won't risk fucking this up anyway. Not with Caroline staring bullets into the back of his neck.

I know when Elena complies. I can see it happen. The cool, bitchy mask she's been wearing cracks and shifts. And then she comes. So bright and beautiful I blink back my suddenly watering eyes. It's like standing in the mother-fucking sun, looking at this girl.

She sucks in a breath and I see the pain flicker over her. Jeremy. Jeremy and Ric and Jenna and her parents and all of it. _All_ of it.

She takes a breath and I hold mine. The sound that comes out of her is pure pain - thin and high and terrible and it drops me like a rock. Right to my fucking knees. It's worse than losing Katherine. It's worse than what she said to me at the prom a week ago. It's worse than losing my mother, because it's Elena. And she's losing everything.

She coughs out another awful sob and my whole stomach heaves. I try to push myself forward-towards her, but Stefan and Caroline are already there. I see their arms around Elena, their voices whispering all the shit people like Stefan and Caroline know how to whisper at times like these. And I'm just sitting there on my knees.

Just like Klaus, who's been pushed back. Out of sight, out of mind.

Forgotten.

He gets up to leave and I turn, kind of calling after him. It's not like we're going to bond, what with me being halfway ready to hurl down the front of my shirt and him being a monumental ass-hat. But I mutter something that might sound like a thank you and he nods in a way that could be called acknowledgement.

It's all either one of us will get tonight.

Day Six:

Hate sex. Hate sex with some random stranger will make it better. I'm sure of it. And if I can get out of this bed and actually drag my ass into the shower so I don't smell like a Yeti, maybe I could leave this den of angst-monkeys and get some of that.

Hell, the shower's probably optional, but getting out of bed? Requirement.

I flip over on my stomach, looking at the clock. 9:30. PM, I'm guessing, if the lack of light outside my window is any indicator.

The voices downstairs certainly aren't an indicator. Stefan and Elena are talking. Stefan and Elena have been talking almost non-stop for...I don't know for-fucking-ever, that's how long. Once she stopped the worst of the keening in the dungeon, Caroline took over. She whisked her up the stairs and I think through a shower. Stefan went up to offer blood bags, I think. I don't really know, because I stayed on the dungeon floor until Stefan brought me a bottle of scotch and kind of shoved me to my feet.

Then I came up here and I've pretty much been here since.

Caroline left at some point while Elena was sleeping and then it was Stefan and Elena. Of course.

They've been talking since whenever the hell it was Elena woke up. I heard it start. All slow and tentative at first. Then it just went on and on. And on. At first I really listened. Like to every damn word. They talked about feelings and misunderstandings and all the positive things that they have to focus on to get through the blah, blah, blahbity bullshit. Then I tuned the fuck out until it was kind of like a hive of bees buzzing downstairs.

I didn't quite care enough to listen. But I obviously care way too damn much to get my ass out of bed, now don't I?

Elena sniffs downstairs and I throw an arm over my eyes.

This is not my life. Even Katherine didn't have me slinking around my house eavesdropping. Or at least not like this. God, I need to be drunk. Or staked. Probably staked. I close my eyes and command myself to spontaneously burst to ash.

When nothing happens, I get up and force myself into the shower. I should have done it ages ago. I smell better and the water drones out my brother's soulful word-vomit. Maybe I could start sleeping in the shower.

_Or maybe I could leave this fucking flea-hole town._

Like that's going to happen.

I turn off the water and snatch a towel, rubbing it over my hair before securing it around my waist.

And of course when I step back out to my bedroom, she's there, clean-scrubbed face and hair in a ponytail. She look and smells like everything I've ever wanted in my whole life. I want to be all smooth and shit. I want to ignore her and drop my towel, take my time getting on my boxers.

"Hi," I say instead. Sounding like a fourteen-year-old who bumped into his crush in the hallway.

I'm such a fucking pussy.

"Hi," she says back. She's sitting on the foot of my bed, clinging to one of the bedposts, big expectant eyes pinned on me.

No, I'm not doing this. Because that sweet mouth with that just-so curve in her bottom lip has said some unbelievable shit to me in the past two weeks. I've had my switch turned off, I know the ugly places you go. And I also know there's some sliver of truth in all of it.

I turn to the dresser and throw my towel off. I can hear her turn my head when it happens. Right, Elena. Hide your blushing eyes.

I jerk on a pair of boxers, followed by a pair of jeans.

"It's not like this some dark mystery to you," I tell her.

I want to add something else-loud enough for Stefan to hear-about the fact that we fucked ten ways from Sunday in that bed she's sitting on, but then it isn't really true. I know a thing or ten about fucking, and it isn't what we did that night. We made love. Her face in my hands, my name on her lips, everything kind of frantic and slow at the same time.

The pink stain on her cheeks tells me I'm not the only one thinking about it.

"I thought you might come downstairs," she says, ignoring my comments. She pushes her hair behind her ear and looks so small, so sweet and soft and undeniably _Elena_ that I can barely keep myself from launching at her. "I've been waiting for you."

"Didn't want to interrupt," I say.

I pull a shirt on and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. I can see her eyes skate over my stomach. I guess we'll always have _that_.

"You wouldn't have been interrupting," she says.

"I doubt I would have had anything useful to add."

"Damon, don't act like that."

"What should I act like, Elena? What role do I get to play today? The bad boy? The boyfriend? The sire?"

"I'm not sired to you anymore," she says softly.

I scoff, giving her a disbelieving look. She twists her hands in her lap, not meeting my eyes. "When Klaus compelled me, he took that away. Caroline asked him to."

"And compulsion is supposed to override the sire bond? It's blood deep, Elena. Bone deep. You aren't unsired. It doesn't happen."

She lifts her chin, meeting my eyes. "Try it. Try me."

Do. Not. Fall. For. This. Shit. This way lies broken promises and sweet words that will haunt you for a really fucking long time. I shake my head and lean back against my dresser. "Nice try."

"Do it."

"I don't want to _do it_," I say, opening and closing drawers at random. I don't know what I'm looking for, mostly just something that isn't her. "I just want you to go back downstairs."

"No, you don't."

Fucking hell. I look up at her, scrubbing a hand over my face. "You obviously don't know what I want. And you're shit at taking a hint because it's clear as day that I want you to go the hell away."

"Why are you pushing me?"

"Because it makes me feel better," I say.

"Pushing me away makes you feel better?"

"It would if it would work! I'd be happy as a clam if you'd just trot off and have this little heart-to-heart with Stefan."

"That would make you happy. Me going downstairs."

"Jesus, Broken Record, yes it would!" I'm practically shouting. I just want this over. Every second she's in here with her dark eyes and her soft voice and her hair sort of sliding into her eyes-it's like standing in the fire of hell. This is what I can't handle-the reminder of everything I loved about being with -No.

Fuck no, she was not _with_ me. Never has been, never will be.

I close my eyes, willing her to move fast because I can feel whatever bravado I've got left oozing out through my fucking pores every time I breathe her in.

"Elena, Stefan is waiting for you," I say. "All the epic, flowery bullshit you've been talking about for the last twenty hours is waiting for you."

"And I'm still waiting for you," she says.

When I open my eyes she's standing right in front of me. I let myself look at her, right in the eyes. It's like shooting heroin. It will kill me-no question about that-and I don't care. I know damn well I'll end up glassy-eyed and curled over in fetal position, but I still want more.

"What?" I say, dumbly, still punch-drunk on her smell.

"I'm not sired to you," she repeats. "If I was, I would have left because you told me to. Several times. But I'm here. I'm here _waiting_ for you to snap out of this."

I don't know what the hell she's blathering on about, but I know I can't listen to it because it sounds a lot like hope. And that is a No Go Zone. Strolling into a witches convention with fangs out and a dead body in tow would be smarter than exploring hope of a relationship with Elena Gilbert.

I feel her hand on my face and I slap it away out of instinct. "Don't."

"Damon, I love-"

I jab a finger at her, cutting her off. "You don't get to say that to me again. I might be a dick, but that doesn't mean those words don't hur-"

She just shakes her head and cuts me off. "I love yo-"

I grab her then, giving her shoulders one quick, panicked shake to try to rattle those words right out of her. I've lost my mind. Game fucking over, I am toast.

"Don't do this to me!" My voice is a croak and her eyes go blurry with tears, or...Shit. Shit, that's me. I'm crying.

But she is, too. I can tell when she sniffs and then pushes right back into me, her smooth palms cradling my face. "I love you, Damon."

I close my eyes and try to shut it out, but it's too late. I can't un-hear it. And there isn't a damn hope of me forgetting the way her voice caught or the fact that she was almost whispering, her thumbs stroking over my cheekbones as she said my name. It's like trying to hide from my own skin.

"You love Stefan, Elena," I say, because all the pretty touching in the world doesn't change that. "You feel _safe_ with Stefan."

"And I feel alive with you."

Yeah, that's all it takes. I should probably hand my balls over in a little glass jar, because I lean right in against her, until my forehead touches hers and the world slides back into orbit. It's an absolute mind-fuck that something this insane can feel so right.

"I can't do this again, Elena," I'm shaky as all hell. "The back and forth between me and Stefan. I can let you go. I've done it before. But I can't watch you pinion back and-

"Do you know Jeremy talked about you?" She interrupts me with this sunshine voice. My shaking eases as I look at her, waiting for her to go on. "When he came back from the lakehouse. Before..."

Before everything went to hell and back. Yeah. But, no, I didn't know. I shake my head, too nervous to break whatever spell has her talking about him.

Elena plays with the collar of my t-shirt absently, her eyes unfocused. "We were talking about the sire bond. I asked if he thought my relationship with you was because of it, like everyone else thought. He told me he should probably want to think that, but he didn't. He said he wasn't surprised by any of it."

"Why?" I can't help it, the word blurts out of me. "Because of that night at the hotel?"

Elena looks at me, with a sad smile. "I asked him the same thing. And he said, _"No. It's because whenever he walks into a room, it's like a light turning on in your eyes. Sometimes you're pissed. Sometimes you're laughing. But you're always lit up."_

I look down at my feet, wishing to God I'd given that kid more credit. Wishing I could bring him back-shit, wishing a lot of things.

Elena gives a watery laugh. "I asked him how long he'd seen that with us and he told me it was a hell of a lot longer than he wanted to admit."

I process that, trying to imagine them shooting the shit about something like this. I guess I should have expected it would come up eventually.

"So what did he say about Stefan?" I ask. Because apparently I am a twelve-year-old girl with raging insecurity issues.

"I didn't ask about Stefan," Elena says, and her eyes lock onto mine with unmistakable intent. "I didn't need to."

_Well._

Well, hell.

She kisses me, and shit, I don't even think about fighting it. Her lips slant just right, tongue meeting mine in a way that makes everything in my uncurl and heat up. I splay my palm on her lower back and groan into her mouth. It's all slow and long and so deep I'm pretty sure a psychologistc could spend years sorting out all the things passing between us in this kiss. But I don't want to study it. I just want to let it pull me under and suck me down. I want to be lost in this. In her.

I pull her close, her curves melting into mine because we have always fit in a way that defied all logic. Two halves of one whole, I sometimes thought. Never had the stones to say, for obvious fucking reasons, but yeah. I thought it.

She moans when my hand slips beneath her shirt, thumb stroking the bottom of her spine. God, it's good. So damn good I can feel my whole body tremble against hers. Or maybe that's her body. Maybe it's both of us. Either way, I'm not sure if I want to write her a song or throw her over my shoulder and run off to a beach or hell, rip those stupid fucking leggings right off of her so I can take her against my bedroom door.

So, I don't do anything. I just kiss her over and over, remembering the places she likes me to touch. Finding some new ones, too.

When she pulls away, I'm panting and she's looking right at me, calm as you please. She's got her arms around my neck and mischief in her eyes. It feels like coming home.

"So, now what?" I ask, because there's a million things to talk about. The cure. My brother. Okay, maybe just those two big ones, but still.

"I have no idea," she says. "But no secrets. We're telling everyone."

It takes about half a second for me to think about the implications of having heart-to-hearts with our rag-tag crew, all of whom will be thrilled at the chance to throw their opinions into the ring. I groan and roll my eyes, but Elena ignores me. She fixes her hair and straightens her shirt.

So, I shake my head and laugh. "It's going to be a fucking shit show, Elena."

"Well, at least we'll have front row tickets," she says with a tight smile. She starts moving past me, stopping when she's arm's reach away. I see her hand held out behind her, her eyes finding mine over her shoulder. "So, are you with me or what?"

My breath catches a little as our fingers interlace.

"Always."

-End-


End file.
